The Necromancer
by JustChrysalis
Summary: Things are not what they've always seemed to be. Necromancy, Soul Magic, Wizardry. Just three of thousands of different forms. Now Hogwarts has to deal with a child who knows all three. Their little golden boy isn't as golden as Dumbledore had hoped. Neutral!Harry Good!Slytherin Bad!Gryffindor Necromancy is a neutral art, despite being 'Dark'. May become M. Hermione/Draco.Harry/OC.
1. Chapter 1

"What kind of moron am I dealing with?" A tall, imposing figure mumbles, shaking his head under the hood of his black cloak, enchanted so that his face is shrouded by shadow and mystery. He stands alone in the middle of a paved street in a suburb, his form dimly lit by the street lamps. His destination, a specific house, the source of a massive magical spike in the fabric that only one such as himself could notice. He just had to get there before one other could find it first.

"Who in the nine hells releases such a powerful surge? It can't be a child, no, much too powerful for that. So what kind of idiot am I dealing with?" He strolls up through the front yard of the two story home, before being nearly floored. 'Such hatred in this place. No human could live here, no, it must be a monster.' He stomps through the garden, intentionally trampling everything in his path, thinking, 'Petty as it may be, that felt _good_.'

He steps up onto the porch and sneaks up to the door, placing a black gloved hand upon it, which glows with black light for a moment, before dissipating, and his hand then travels to the knob upon the door, turning it, before pushing slowly, ever slowly, until he has granted himself entry to the house.

He finds himself in a dark living room with white carpets, a TV on the wall, a couch opposite of it, and two chairs, with the walls being a dark hard wood. He creeps slowly toward a set of stairs, and feels the source of the magical surge growing closer, and closer, until suddenly he can feel it! 'Why? Why is the magical underneath the stairs?'

Using the same process as for the outside door, except multiple times for the three locks, the door opens to reveal... 'A BABY?! How...How could a baby produce such powerful magical waves?' A sudden chill goes down the tall man's spine, and he begins to panic. 'N-no! The others! I have to get this kid out of here!' He silently scoops up the baby and rushes from the house.

Five minutes late finds the tall man appearing suddenly at the mouth of a cave, baby boy in his arms. He heads down into the grey cave, moon and twinkling stars to his back. He stops abruptly in front of a meter tall stalagmite, which he grips with his hand, and pulls. There is a click, and a piece of the wall to the right slides away, revealing a well-furnished room of polished stone. All of the furniture is black with red cushions.

He steps into the room, onto the lovely red rug, and sets the baby down onto the couch, seating himself in one of two chairs, the one in front of the fireplace. With a flick of his wrist, and a black glow of the tall man's hand, the fireplace ignites, bathing the room with warmth and light. His thoughts immediately shift to the child asleep on the couch.

'What am I going to do with this kid? A baby, a BABY, locked in a cabinet. I'm glad I got to him first. He was easy to get. If the others got their hands on a kid with so much potential... And my mind is wandering again. I must be going senile in my old age.

'Back to the most important thing. WHAT. AM. I. GOING. TO. DO. WITH. THIS. BABY? I could bring him back and mask his presence... No, the others were there, those people are surely dead. They'd abuse him anyway. I could give him to some magical old couple who never had kids... No, that causes problems. I could... I could raise him. Teach him. Care for him.' He looks to the baby on the couch, sleeping soundly.

He slides from his chair, and crawls to the kid. 'Why am I crawling?' He rises to a low crouch, and examines the boy closely. He has dark brown hair, almost black, very pale skin, even for a baby, and a tiny scar in the rough shape of a lightning bolt. He sighs in his sleep, and makes a small sputtering sound, before returning to his unconscious silence.

The tall man places a hand on the scar, and his hand glows blue briefly, before he withdraws his hand with disgust. 'Who would curse a child? To make on into a temporary phylactery at that!' His hand returns to the scar, and he focuses deeply as his hand glows a slowly brightening blue glow.

It takes not a minute before his hand withdraws, and the child squirms as black liquid oozes out of the scar for several minutes under the careful watch of the man. 'Such disgusting taint. Heh. That sounds funny coming from me. But still, pure evil was the only ingredient or emotion behind this spell, and yet, it is still so powerful! No true anger, or anything with actual raw strength, just... evil. Whoever did this... Whoever did this is a true monster. Even more so than any cannibalistic demon that washes down the flesh of its brethren with the blood of a unicorn, whoever did this is a monster.'

The man suddenly realizes that he had been thinking of the evil for ten minutes after the stop of the fluid and the return to serenity of the child. He sighs. 'There is no choice. I must prepare this child as best I can. Whoever did this to him will want to finish what he started. He must be prepared to fight back, or he will assuredly die.'

He removes his hood, revealing himself to look about in his twenties, with a multitude of scars about his face, and likely the rest of his body as well, with deep black hair, red irises, and skin even paler than the child before him. 'How am I going to do this?'

The man crouches in front of the child, contemplating his plan thoroughly, before he notices a pair of green eyes staring into his, the baby's green eyes. The man has no idea of the child's name, and as such, he just says whatever feels right, as any other would do. "Hey, there, Morsiecoris, I'm going to take care of you from now on. Heh, I haven't got a name to give you, really, so just call me 'Necromancer.' I'll always be here for you, kid, don't you worry about that."

The newly dubbed Morsiecoris just smiles at him, and Necromancer knows deep down inside, he made the right choice. The child will not die, not if he has anything to say about it. That's a fact.


	2. Chapter 2

"... and that is why you live with me," Necromancer finishes his story of how he got to meet Morsiecoris. "Wow... I feel kind of guilty now... It's kind of my fault that my family is dead, huh?" Mors states glumly, looking at the floor. Necro responds by grabbing Mors' shoulder, and looking him straight in the eye.

"You can't blame yourself for their deaths. I don't know if they're dead. They are most likely dead, but we don't know that. You were also a child, a child more naturally in tune with magic than most. A child who had no control of the situation. A _cursed_ child with no control of the situation. It was only a matter of time, so NO, it is not your fault, and never think that." The seven-year-old Mors nods slowly, still not fully forgiving himself, even as Necro pulls him into a hug.

"Alright, Necro, I... I won't blame myself." Necro pats the boy's back, and withdraws from the hug.

"Now," Necro changes the subject with a smile, "Let's get back to study. What is Necromancy, Soul Magic, Wizard Magic, and the difference between the three?"

"Necromancy, Soul Magic, and Wizard Magic are all different forms of natural magic. Necromancy and Soul Magic can be learned, whilst Wizard Magic is something that must be inherited by blood.

"Necromancy focuses on the different aspects of living things, the Flesh, the Soul, and the Spirit. The difference between the Soul and the Spirit is that the soul is comprised of the mind and consciousness, while the Spirit is comprised of the individual's magic. Unlike with Soul Magic, Necromancy can only interact with the Souls of the dead, while the other aspects have no such restriction. It is also capable of all other thing Wizard Magic is, but usually to a much lesser degree.

"Soul Magic is the magical manipulation, tracking, or interaction of or with a living being's soul. It allows mind control, if highly skilled, telepathy, and the simple ability to determine location.

"Wizard Magic, the most versatile, yet weakest of all known magics. It cannot be used like any other to enhance magical ability, however it can be used to inscribe runes that do something similar. It requires a great deal of finesse that would seem unnecessary to users of other magics.

"Finally, each magic uses a different source. If I was to use Necromancy to the point that I have an endless ocean of power to draw from, it would make my wizard-like abilities much stronger so long as they are necromancy, but Soul Magic would not benefit from the endless well."

Mors' mood slowly improves as he recites every general fact he can remember about the three kinds of magic that Necro teaches him. "Good," Necro praises, "But also, don't forget, Wizard Magic is also the most common, as learnable magics are often considered immoral. For example, the control Necromancy gives you over corpses, or the control Soul Magic gives you over the mind. It must always be remembered that if anyone, magical or non, figures out what we do, we will be forced into prisons for those who practice the 'hideously dark arts of all evil badness,' as I've heard them referred to as."

The dark brown haired child pouts slightly, green eyes gleaming in the fire light, "Why is it that they're so mean?" Necro sighs, crouching down. Story time again.

"Once upon a time, there was a wizard. His name was Merlin. He wore blue robes, had this huge staff, and a gigantic white beard," Necro stokes his huge-ass invisible beard.

"He had a friend who practiced Necromancy at one point. The Necromancer had four students, as did Merlin. The students of Merlin were convinced by one of their own, a certain one named Godric, to destroy the other apprentices," Necro scowls, a look of pure hatred and murderous intent upon his features as his voice becomes harsh.

"He had been jealous of their unique powers, even though he could have learned them himself. After the deed was done, they all cried to Merlin about how the apprentices had attacked them," He makes mocking little gestures like he's going to go tattle on someone.

"Merlin became furious with his friend, casting him from society by use of his political power, and the public forever labelled Necromancers as evil soul sucking monsters, ten times worse than a Dementor."

"Please tell me Godric paid for his crime!" Mors cries out, almost pleading look in his eye.

"If only the real world worked that way, Mors," Necro sighs again, placing a hand on his chin.

"I was the only apprentice that survived, but only because I had made a phylactery gem earlier that day. I know for a fact that he was not punished, but in fact rewarded for his 'bravery' in leading them to victory," He scowls once more, before his face softens as does his voice.

"Slytherin, the cunning liar, was the only one who seemed as though he didn't want to be doing it. He even apologized as he struck me down. I'll bet he was threatened. I'll bet the others were just too weak willed."

He sighs one last time before he closes his story with a single sentence, "I choose to blame Godric, because he's the only one I have any solid evidence for."

Mors scowls, and declares heroically, "How dare he hurt you! I will avenge your loss one day, Necro!" Necro laughs, ruffling the boy's hair, and hands him a round, clear gem, which causes Mors to gasp, "A revival stone?!"

Necro chuckles, and ruffles Mors' hair again, saying affectionately, "Yep. Bond it to yourself, and that's one almost guaranteed get out of jail free card. Just in case you need it in the future, Mors."

Mors focuses on the stone and sticks his tongue out in concentration, remaining that way for thirteen minutes before he realizes something. "I don't know what I'm doing." He says meekly, and Necro laughs.

"I figured that out by the end of the first minute. Just do what I say."

"First, find your soul in your body."

"Second, grab some of it with your necromantic energy." "But I can't touch living souls with it!"

"You can if they're yours. Then, take a splinter, maybe the size of a toothpick out, and put it in the gem. And that's it."

The gem glows green, the same shade as Mors' eyes as the deed finds itself done. Mors smiles with glee at the new necromantic item at his disposal, holding it tightly in his hand. He gives Necro a huge hug in thanks, tears of pure joy running down his face. Necro smiles and pats his young apprentice on the back.


	3. Chapter 3

Necro yawns as he sits up in his bed, stretching his arms wide and smacking his lips, before shaking his head to try and rid himself of the remaining tiredness. It doesn't work, and he yawns again into his hand. He slowly gets out of his bed, and puts on a robe, intentionally keeping the hood down; before he makes his way into the kitchen of the underground home he made for himself and Mors.

He makes his way straight to the cabinet where he stores the coffee and places a pack in a pot, fills it with water, and places it on the fire stove to brew. He yawns once more and shakes his head, just in time to notice Mors walking in. Luckily for him, it's his eleventh birthday today. "Dammit, Mors," Necro lightheartedly mumbles, "Now I can't get you breakfast in bed. Go back to sleep."

Mors laughs, wearing his own Necromancy themed attire, that being black modern casual wear, with the belt, shoulders, and shoes decorates with quarter-sized iron skulls. "I already got dressed up, Mr. 500 years old. Too late for that," He chuckles.

"Hehehe, yeah, fair enough, Birthday Boy. Just be glad I remembered that spell that tells me your birthday. Otherwise-" He is cut off however, as a random owl smacks into his face, then leaves abruptly. Mors rolls on the floor laughing at the sheer random humor of what just then happened.

"Wh-wh-what was th-th-that-t, N-Necr-r-r-ho-ho?" Mors somehow manages to choke out between the giggles as he rolls.

Necro, however, ignores the boy as he holds a scroll, the scroll the owl had been carrying with trembling hands, shakily and slowly unrolling the document.

 **HOGWARTS SCHOOL**

 _ **of**_ **WITCHCRAFT** _ **and**_ **WIZARDRY**

 **Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

 **(** _ **Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**_

 __ **Dear Mr. Potter,**

 **We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

 **Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.**

 **Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall,** _ **  
Deputy Headmistress**_

A smaller scroll falls from the larger, which Necro picks up and reads while he hands Mors the first,

 **HOGWARTS SCHOOL**

 _ **Of**_ **WITCHCRAFT** _ **and**_ **WIZARDRY**

 **UNIFORM  
First-year students will require:  
sets of plain work robes (black)  
plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
3\. One pair of protective gloves (Dragon hide or similar)  
4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.**

 **COURSE BOOKS  
All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
** _ **The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)**_ **by Miranda Goshawk  
** _ **A History of Magic**_ **by Bathilda Bagshot  
** _ **Magical Theory**_ **by Adalbert Waffling  
** _ **A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration**_ **by Emeric Switch  
** _ **One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi**_ **by Phyllida Spore  
** _ **Magical Drafts and Potions**_ **by Arsenius Jigger  
** _ **Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them**_ **by Newt Scamander  
** _ **The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection**_ **by Quentin Tremble**

 **OTHER EQUIPMENT  
1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales  
Student may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad**

 **PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS**

As soon as Necro finishes reading this list, Mortanis, Mors' familiar, a Necromantic Phoenix he summoned once by accident, flies into the room, perching herself on her master's shoulder, just as he himself finishes the first letter. "What does this mean, Necro?" The tall, ancient necromancer hums, before he answers, "Do you remember the second story I told, just after I told you how I came to take care of you?"

"Yes, Merlin, your old master, what that bastard Godric did," Mors scowls.

"Yes... There was a school, Hogwarts, founded by Merlin and his apprentices. Remember, Slytherin was a good man, and I hold no animosity for what he did. The school itself, I hold no animosity for it, either. I mentioned Wizard Magic, taught you about it, but I can't do it. Everything I know, I learned from good ol' Slytherin, back when we all mingled.

"You have Wizard Magic. That is why they want you to go to Hogwarts. It seems like time for a road trip, Mors. We're going to London."

One necromantic displacement later finds the three outside a building that appears to be a pub. "What is this place?" Mors asks, confusion quite obvious on his face, a gesture mimicked rather convincingly by Mortanis. Necro chuckles, "What this is doesn't matter," he walks over to a brick wall and taps a brick three times, opening up a massive gateway, before he continues as Mors stares in awe, "THIS is what matters. Come along now." Mors dumbly nods, following Necro through the passageway, into a huge alley full of various shops and restaurants. Outside one shop is a massive collection of various cauldrons, some of them gold, some of them black like cast iron, and one of them quite obviously made of diamond. Outside another is a massive pile of caged owls.

The buildings themselves appear very old, and are made mostly of red brick, and aged hard wood. The windows are thick, and slightly distort the images behind them, but not too much. The streets are made of red cobblestone, with light grey gravel in between, and there are lamps on either side of the street.

Necro points out a separate alley, saying, "That's Nocturne Alley. We'll be shopping there. Except for your robes, Madame Malkin's is cheaper than Acturian Fitters, so we'll get you robes here in Diagon."

The people in the alley are all wizards, wearing variously colored robes. Some of them have hoods, some have pointy hats, and some wear nothing on their heads. They all, however, carry a stick around, likely their wands. A good deal of them are staring.

Mors feels quite uncomfortable with the massive number of random wizards staring at him. "Who is that?" Children ask their mothers, who then push them away from him, saying, "That's a dark wizard. We do not talk to them."

"Here we are!" Necro cheerily states suddenly, and Mors looks to the building they're outside of. "An ice cream parlor?" Mors asks, to which Necro grabs his head and turns him around. "A... I don't know what this is."

The building itself is massive, made of marble, and looks to be of political importance. It is labeled in massive, ornate, golden letters, "Gringotts," and wizards occasionally shuffle in and out of it. "Gringotts. THE wizard bank, the only one in the known world, in fact." Necro states like a tour guide, before ushering his apprentice into the building. As soon as the two step into the building, alarms start going off. Someone yells to calm down as the alarms cut off, and a short grey man wearing a business suit runs up to the two, saying quietly, "Greetings, Necromancer. It has been long since your last visit. What business do you have with us today?"

Necro stares a minute before asking, "Why are you wearing a muggle business suit, Goblin? I expected a cloak, in truth."

The goblin laughs, responding, "It has been a personal quirk of mine for as long as I have known of them, to answer your question, Necromancer. But still, what is your business?"

Necro sighs, "My apprentice, Morsiecoris, has been accepted to Hogwarts. I wish to gather funds to do some shopping for supplies."

"Ah, makes sense. Where did he get the phoenix?"

"I accidentally summoned her one day," Mors cuts in, "I named her Mortanis. By the way, would I be allowed to bring her to Hogwarts?"

The goblin laughs, "Yes, I do believe so. They allow people to bring squirrels and tarantulas, despite saying that they wouldn't allow it in their letters." At this, Mors sighs, looking relieved.

"Anyway," Necro speaks up again, "I'd like to access my vault so that my apprentice can get the supplies he needs."

"Right! Follow me, Necromancer, Morsiecoris." And the goblin leads them to the back of the room, through a door, to a burly goblin in a metal basket. "Take them to the Necromancer's vault, Griphook," He says, and the goblin in the basket, Griphook, pales quite visibly, giving the goblin who is most likely his boss a shuddering nod. Necro and Morsiecoris file into the basket, and Griphook pulls a lever, sending the four, including Mortanis, careening down into the earth, likely towards Necro's vault.

They stop, somewhat abruptly, in front of a massive vault door, decorated with a massive demonic skull made of solid silver, surrounded by torches that eerily glow green, and resonate with the screams of the damned. Mors looks to Necro and asks, "Compensating for something?" Necro lets out a short bark of laughter, and sighs, "Nah, but it looks cool. Got more money than a Malfoy, but nothing to do with it, so, I redecorated my vault." Mors nods, absorbing the impressive scene.

"You had them replace the iron door with Hellgold because why?"

"Hellgold is badass. Like magic. Only it's made of gold. And it's black."

"I understand completely." The massive skull turns sideways, and the vault opens slowly with a low pitched metallic groan. "Holy hell, it even _sounds_ evil!"

"Indeed." The vault gapes like a demonic mouth... except it's full of gold, because why not? Necro levitates a couple hundred coins into a small satchel, and hands it to Mors, closing the door behind him as the three step back into the lift... thingy.

A short ride back followed by short, polite farewells, and the three are back out in the alley. "I'll go get you some ice cream, Malkin's is right over there, so go ahead and get fitted. I'll see you in a bit."

Mors shrugs as Necro heads into the packed pink parlor, and heads into the not packed, not pink, not parlor known as Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. "Hello, dear," The woman at the counter says brightly, before turning to face him. Her smile wavers, but is placed firmly back on her face. Mors, however, and by extension Mort, find this to be ridiculously funny, both of them laughing aloud, before Mors assures the woman, "I'm not evil, I just like black. You've no need to fear me," He then looks to the undead phoenix on his shoulder, burning with black necromantic fire as she preens, still giggling slightly, "Mort, on the other hand..."

The aforementioned phoenix gives an undignified squawk, and huffs, looking away. Mors just laughs slightly. Smiling brightly at the woman, the apprentice cheerfully greets, "My name is Morsiecoris, and I've recently been accepted to Hogwarts. If you would, I'd like to purchase my robes."

The woman looks rather glad that the child will not, in fact, attempt to hurt her, and gladly takes him to the fitting area, where 'THEE' Madame Malkin is fitting a particularly pompous looking blonde. Mors stands perfectly still as the woman starts taking measurements, and the blonde beside him asks, "Hogwarts?" Mors, not seeing the harm in it, responds, "Yeah."

"Hmm. My father is looking at wands, at the moment. Mother is getting my books. After we're all done, I think I'll drag them off to look at racing brooms. Ridiculous that they don't let first years bring their own brooms, isn't it? I'll just have to smuggle mine in."

"I'll bet there was some hazing going on."

"Hazing?" The blonde looks very confused at Mors.

"Hazing. It's something that newbies have to go through to be accepted into a 'hardcore' club, or the like. Firsties probably had to try and shove their whole broom up their own arse to get accepted." Both of the women gasp, and Mors amends, "I know, language, but 'butt', 'booty', and 'rear-end' don't quite have the same effect, do they?"

The blonde pales considerably at the notion of having to do what Mors described, a feat, considering he rivalled Necro even beforehand in paleness. "Err..." He shakes his head clear of the thoughts, "My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Morsiecoris. My... caretaker, Necro, actually mentioned you. Your family, rather."

"Well," Draco says, voice swelling with pride as if it wasn't at all prideful before, "We ARE a rather influential and well known PUREBLOOD wizarding family."

"Hmm. Word of advice?" Mors asks, and Draco nods. "Don't get a big head." Draco is about to angrily interject, but Mors won't have it, "Having power is good. You can work towards your own goals, and nobody can control you, but remember, power is a means, not an end. If your goal is power, you will live an empty life." Draco's eyes widen in realization. "Power should be a step in the plan, not the goal. Remember that, and you'll not only have power, but a feeling of..."

Draco stares at Mors, almost begging him to finish.

"Of right. You'll feel like everything is right. You got what you wanted, and you get to keep it. Say your goal is to keep you family safe. A just, noble goal like this is necessary. To keep your family safe, you have to be stronger than those that would harm them. See? Power is a part of the method, but it isn't all of it, there's also honor, a need to protect, and most importantly, love. And the end result? Those you care about aren't dead." Draco stares blankly, meekly even.

"You... are wise, Morsiecoris..." He mumbles.

"Now that we have the deep advice out of the way, here's the cheesy bit that is actually good advice. Make your own opinions, don't just accept what you've been spoon-fed. If you can't accept something, change it, and if you can't change it, accept it. Finally, if you need help, ask someone, people are more willing to help than you might think."

"I... You've given me a lot to think about... especially in that bit with the hazing..." The women, both almost finished, shudder, "Heh... I'll... I think I'll take your advice. Maybe... Maybe Muggleborns and Halfbloods aren't bad... Maybe dark doesn't immediately mean powerful."

"Neither of those are wrong, Draco. My mother was a Muggleborn, and supposedly, was excellent at nearly everything. Merlin was the most powerful wizard of his time, and he most certainly wasn't dark. A bit... Unorthodox, if Necro is to be believed, but not dark." The boys share a smile, and Mors leaves the shop with a new pair of robes and a new friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'd like to apologize for the delay getting this to you guys. I died. Then I played some Fallout: New Vegas. Then I died again. And yes, I still play Vegas. Anyways...**

"Congratulations on getting your robe," Necro says with a grin, looking at Mors, "And an even heartier congratulations on your feat in there." He hands his apprentice the ice cream he got him. Mors blushes. "You, eh... noticed me using Soul Magic, eh?" Necro laughs, clapping him on the shoulder, "Mors, it was a fantastic display. You turned that dickhead into a right respectable young man in five minutes. It'd've taken me a few minutes longer, and that's if I rushed. You, kid, know what you're doing."

Mors blushes heavily under the praise, and nods dumbly. "Now let's get your other supplies! First up, wands!" Necro cheerfully proclaims, strolling into Knockturn, Mors following at his heels. A few meters away, a little girl hears her mother mumble, "Fuckin' dark wizards, corruptin' our youth." This of course leads to an awkward situation, one that even embarrasses the passers by.

Gordon Hamsley's Evil Wands of Evil, the sign proudly proclaims in a rather garish tone of pink. "Well, THAT'S reassuring," Mors says aloud, glancing incredulously at his teacher. "Don't worry, Mors," he laughs in response, "I know for a fact it's just a hook." He pushes the door open, and gestures for Mors to come in.

The inside of the store is rather... prismatic and chaotic. It's best left at that. Gordon, a chunky blonde man, pops up from behind the counter with a huge smile, which he forcibly twists into an obviously fake scowl. "And WHAT do you want?" He barks, barely able to restrain his glee, but still somehow sounding cheerful. Mors clearly can't speak, he's too busy muttering in disbelieving shock. Necro, on the other hand is fully capable, and takes up the role of speaker in stride.

"We're here so that I can buy my son a wand. He's going into Hogwarts, you know." Gordon nods, the fake scowl still on his face, and looks intently at Mors. "A strong constitution, a strong will, a strong moral code, and a strong mind. The epitome of positive qualities. I can tell. But the best for such a well-rounded individual... This will be a hard match."

Gordon wanders into the back room, and before Mors can ask, Necro explains, "It's common knowledge that the wand chooses the wizard. This is complete bullshit. Different personalities have different magical resonations, and different magical resonations synch with different magical ingredients used in making the wand." Mors blinks. "In other words, it's the other way around, the wizard actually chooses the wand, just not consciously."

Gordon shuffles back into the room, holding a stick. "This," he growls very fakely, "Is solid unicorn horn, with an oaken grip. Both materials represent harmony and balance. They should be average in all forms of magic, like most wands I make, so you'll have to rely on personal skill rather than pansy cheap advantages like those poor sods who buy from Ollivander." He sighs genuinely, "Poor kids don't even realize that so much of their talent isn't even real..."

He sobers and gives Mors one last bit of info, "My wands are untraced, so you don't have to worry about the ministry beating your door down if you cast something out of Hogwarts. Damn Ministry and their damn idiotic..." he shakes his head. "Never mind. Give it a swish." Mors does just that, and a beautiful cascade of rainbow sparks fly from the tip. "Is that normal?" Mors asks, and Gordon shrugs. "When you meet a wand, it sparks in a certain way to say how attuned to you it is. If you like rainbows and sparkles, then yeah, that's normal."

Mors blankly stares at the wand, and eventually says, "Damn wand, making me look gay. I'm not gay." He shakes his head. "Yeah, I think this one might be perfect." Gordon and Necro smile. Mortanis gives a mocking little chirp. A quick exchange of coins later, and the two are off to the next store.

 **-))((-**

"Hey," Mors awkwardly greets a girl his age in the bookstore, "You, uh, you do know Knockturn isn't safe, right?" Her curly hair bounces as she turns to him. Her teeth are slightly crooked, but, England, you know? She gives him a blank look as she responds, "Of course I know, but how am I going to learn about this stuff otherwise? It isn't covered in the course syllabus!" She shoves a book in his face.

"Alchemical Bombs, Cantrips, and Diabolical Elementals?" He asks her suspiciously, giving her a level glare. "A troublemaker, aren't you?" She gets a slight panicked look, glancing at a pair of adults in Muggle clothes. _Her parents,_ Mors realizes with a raised brow. A small smirk plays across his face, and he grabs the girl's arm, pulling her close, "I like that."

She blushes heavily, stammering some unintelligible blather, trying to come up with something to say. Mors feels a tap on his shoulder, and looks up to see Necro glancing down at him, a stack of books in hand. "Mors," he starts, "Quit teasing the poor girl." Mors smiles innocently as Necro gestures for him to follow to the next store. Before he leaves, though, Mors slips the girl a few Galleons, before whispering in her ear, "For the book. See you in Slytherin, cutie," And rushes off after his mentor, leaving the flustered girl behind in a stunned silence.

 **-))((-**

Mors catches up with Necro at the final store on their list. Potions supplies. "I saw that, earlier, Mors. I'm proud. Not a day in, and you've already seduced-slash-bought your first ally. Slytherin would be proud of me, raising you like that." Mors snorts, a gesture Mortanis mimics, opening the door.

The shop itself is rather small. The ingredients are of questionable origin, and the man behind the counter is of questionable breeding and wears a rather old-school brown leather vest. "What can I do for you, sirs?" The man asks, rubbing his greasy palms together. Necro simply shows the Hogwarts acceptance letter to the man. "Ah, basic potions ingredients, pewter cauldron... the basic works. May I interest you in anything else, though?"

He glances side to side conspiratorially, "I happen to be packing some alchemical supplies in addition to the standard fare, you know." He lifts an eyebrow. "Questionable legality, unquestionable quality, and guaranteed legit. Even got a few basic guide books in the back."

Mors looks up at a smiling Necro. He looks back down at Mors, raising an eyebrow. Mortanis squawks. He nods, and Necro looks back to the greasy man. "My good man, you had me at 'alchemical', and you had a guaranteed sale on your hands at 'questionable legality'."

The man reaches under the counter, and pulls out a small book, along with several pots of colorful dust. "A guide book, and some basic alchemical dust," He says, "Not the fanciest out there, but it'll tell you which does what, and that'll keep it from exploding in your eyes, so... good. The dusts themselves are pure, but they only cover the basic elements, fire, water, air, earth, order, and chaos."

He then goes into the back room and comes back out with a cauldron and some more supplies. "And here," he says, "is your standard fare." A quick exchange of coins and goods later, and the three find themselves just about ready to leave.

"Can you think of anything else you might need, Mors?" Necro asks, and his apprentice gives it some serious consideration. He places his hand on his chin and scrunches his eyebrows. Suddenly it hits him.

"We need to get a trunk!" Necro almost slaps himself for overlooking something so obvious.

"You mean like the five-room trunk you made all by yourself last year?!" Mors _does_ slap himself.

 **-))((-**

A month flies by like a caffeinated bat out of hell... in TURBODRIVE. "This is the place," Necro bluntly states, looking down at his apprentice and his apprentice's familiar. They stand in front of a divider in the train station. Mors skeptically looks to his mentor, before catching himself. Wizards are retarded, so why shouldn't their defenses reflect that?

Mors waves at his retreating mentor, knowing good and well how bad he is at goodbyes, before hefting the trunk and stepping through the divider and into a whole new world, one of magic, intrigue, and plot twists. Actually, no, he just steps into a crowd of wizards, or at least robed weirdos, in front of a ridiculously loudly colored train.

He manages, through no small amount of effort, to cut through the crowd and board the train. He quickly finds an empty compartment, and sets down his trunk, before sitting on the provided seat, with Mortanis sitting right beside him.

A few minutes pass, and eventually the crowd outside starts to dissipate, the students on the train, and parents now leaving. Just before he has a chance to crack open a book and start reading, the door slides open. A thin, freckled, ginger boy stands in the doorway, and shyly mumbles, "Uh, hi, uh, all the other compartments are full so..." He looks up, and sees all the skull aesthetics on Mors' robes, "Nevermind." He slides the door closed, and Mors shrugs.

 **Now, to apologize for the wait and short chapter, I've added in a little sneak peek for something you'll see in about, mm, five to ten chapters.**

"Tell me Mors, what do you see in the mirror?" Dumbledore asks. Mors looks to the tall, grandfatherly figure, then back to the mirror. In the mirror he sees himself, with his friends, all wielding wicked blades, dashing through a post-apocalyptic wasteland after a massive demon throwing fireballs at them, as the weave their own dark magic in return. "I see..." 'Better be a bit dishonest.' "Myself. Wearing some really nice socks."


	5. Chapter 5

**I'd like to apologize for the wait and sudden change in pairing (if you call Mors(Harry)x multi a 'pairing') with a much longer than usual chapter. More'n a whole four thousand words. Sorry this took so long, though, for real. I'm just lazy. This chapter is exactly 4006 words long if you were wondering, thanks.)**

With a shudder and a lurch, the Hogwarts express begins its grand journey to its destination. Mors briefly looks up from his book to see what is happening, but upon the realization that the train just started along on its way, he looks back down. He is surprised that not five minutes into the ride, he hears a knock on his door. He gets up, and slides the door open.

He sees the same bushy-haired girl from the bookstore, standing beside a short, blond boy, about their age. "Can you help us?" She asks, not having yet looked directly at him, "My friend Neville lost his toad Trevor and yooouuu..." She looks directly at him, "Are the boy from the bookstore..." Mors simply smiles. "Indeed I am, young lady, young lord, and I shall indeed aid you in your quest for the Toad of Trevor!" He pauses. "Though, I suppose he would be the Toad of Neville, if you want to get nit-picky." He uses his hand to make an 'eh, 50-50' gesture.

"Uhh... Okay?" The blond boy, Neville, mumbles, somewhat confused by the enthusiasm. Mors turns to his phoenix, and says, "Mort, I need you to scan the train for a toad." The bird squawks, before flying off down the hall. "Uhm... what was that?" The girl asks, confused to what she just saw. Mors looks to the girl, and says, "Ah, you must be new to this world. I asked my familiar to find Neville's toad. She's magic, and can locate all kinds of things on command." Just as he finishes, a toad lands on Neville's head, and Mort lands on Mors' shoulder.

"Thanks." Neville mumbles, picking Trevor up from his head. Mors looks at the blond boy for a moment, before it suddenly hits him. "You're nervous about the skulls on my robes and shoes, aren't you?" He asks Neville softly. Neville softly nods, and Mors smiles. With a chuckle, he says, "Don't worry, Neville, I'm not evil. Most certainly, I'm not going to kill you." Neville doesn't seem to relax even slightly at the reassurance, so Mors sighs.

"Uhm... What's your name?" The girl asks. "Mors. And you are, Miss?" She smiles, and holds out her hand. "I'm Hermione." Mors grabs her hand to shake it, but gets powerfully shocked. His hair sticks out in every direction, and he coughs up a small cloud of smoke. "That's for embarrassing me in front of my parents." She takes on a slightly guarded posture, ready for retaliation, but then she is in for a shock of her own. He laughs.

"Hahahaha! I guess I was right! Pure Slytherin material." He grins. Neville starts to back away nervously. Mors notices and groans. "Don't tell me you've been spoon-fed that bullshit about 'All Slytherins are evil' like nearly everyone else I've met." He glances left and right as Hermione scolds Mors for 'language', not wanting to answer the question. "We helped you find your toad, didn't we? That's... That has to count for _something_." The boy blushes, and nods, "I guess..."

Mors rolls his eyes, and says, "How about this. You go get your things, and we all sit in this compartment, and get to know each other better." Neville pauses, considering the offer, and nods. He rushes off from whence he came, and Mors turns to Hermione, raising his brow. She quickly does the same, and Mors enters his compartment to wait.

Not two minutes later, his new... 'friends' enter the compartment with their things and sit down. Mors smiles at Hermione, saying, "Also, I'm glad you made good use of that book I helped you buy." Neville looks surprised at her, not having guessed. Hermione smiles at Mors. "I wanted it for a reason, you know." Neville chooses this moment to speak up. "What was in the book?"

Hermione turns to him, and stiltedly tells him, "It was a... book of alchemical... recipes and... potions."

Neville gives a slightly suspicious look, and Mors satisfies his curiosity. "It was a book of alchemical recipes and potions for _pranking_ purposes." Neville looks satisfied with that, at least. Hermione blushes at being caught in her attempt at deception.

"So, do you like chess?" Mors asks suddenly, drawing the attention of the two beside him. The two give him confused looks, so he clarifies, "I'm making small talk. It's a good way to get to know people."

And so began the small talk to end all small talk.

 **-))((-**

The train screeches to a halt, and the three are much closer than they had been at any point before. Mortanis, on the other hand, decided she didn't care for small talk and went to sleep mere minutes after the small talk began. Mors nudges Mort awake, guiding her into her cage, temporarily.

Gathering their things, Mors, Hermione, and Neville exit the train. Mors notices a familiar blonde head and smiles to himself. _I'll talk to him later._ "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" A loud, deep voice is heard over the rabble. The Firs' Years all gather around the source of the voice. As everyone stares at the massive bearded man in awe, Mors tries his best not to laugh.

 _A half-giant. The staff includes a half-giant. Hahaha! Fucking brilliant!_ A smile on his face, he follows the large man's instructions, "Three to a boat, now!" He sits at the front of the boat, Neville and Hermione behind him. When everyone is seated, the boats take off, propelled by magic.

The boats quickly approach a massive castle, ancient, and highly magical by the look of it. The starry sky behind it only serves to make it look more forebodingly awesome. Neville squeaks, grabbing Mors' attention. "What's wrong, Nev?"

"I-I-I saw s-something move in the w-water-r..." He stutters, curling up into a ball. Mors looks over the edge for himself, just in time to see a massive eyeball open, and eyeball so big that it could only belong to one single, horrifying thing.

"These fucking sociopaths bred a freshwater giant squid. I was wrong. Wizards aren't retarded. They're fucking sociopaths. Fucking fuck." Hermione is too scared at the thought to even try to admonish Mors over his language. Looking at his face, she knows good and well he's just as scared as Neville.

The boat couldn't reach shore nearly fast enough for the three. It was all Mors could do to not just Blink himself and his friends to shore, damn the boat. Two agonizingly long and fear-filled minutes later, the glorified wooden dinghies land, and the three find themselves happily back on dry land, and run until they're all completely sure the squid cannot touch them. The three pant heavily from the burst of speed, adopting defensive stances that look like they want to karate chop something.

Hermione glances to her left, and sighs in relief. "I'll take them from here, Hagrid." An older looking woman says, dressed in a red robe. "Let's follow Professor McGonagall." Hermione says, walking after all the rest. "You know her?" Mors asks, following with Neville close behind.

"Yeah," Hermione explains, "see, she took me and my parents on our fist Diagon Alley shopping trip. My dad, ever the SAS agent, decided he wanted to venture into Knockturn, so we had to come back later for that. That's when you first met me." Mors nods in understanding.

They finally come to a massive stone archway that looks like someone ripped out a drawbridge and put in iron doors. With a wave of her wand, McGonagall opens the doors and the children all follow her inside. "What do you think the test is?" one kid whispers to another. "My brothers say we have to wrestle a troll," he gets in return.

"What test? I didn't hear anything about a test." Hermione says, scared, "I mean, I've memorized the books already, but-" "Not that kind of test," Mors cuts her off, "We have to sit on a stool, they put a magic hat on us and it does a personality test sort of thing to put you with like-minded people, in one of the four houses. Nothing dangerous." Both of his companions breathe a sigh of relief.

"How did you learn that?" Neville asks, curiously. "My dad told me. There's a long-standing tradition that nobody tells the new kids that they just have to sit on a stool with a stupid-looking magic hat on their head. Makes them nervous that they might have to, oh, I don't know..." "Wrestle a troll?" Hermione finishes for him.

"Wrestle a troll. Dad never cared about tradition, though, so he told me anyway." The great oak doors open into a massive room, with four long tables leading up to a raised portion with a single table, in front of which is a stool. Everyone sits down yup at the end of the tables nearest to the stool, and Mors' smile just grows as the hat nobody seemed to have noticed begins to sing.

Mors won't pretend, he has no idea why the founders decided that their hat would sing. Maybe they thought it was funny. Maybe they thought the kids would think it was funny. Maybe they were bored halfway through making the hat and that was the result of some aimless fucking around. Who knows, nowadays?

"Abbot, Hannah!" McGonagall calls out and a blonde girl walks up to the podium.

 **-))((-**

"Granger, Hermione!" She walks up nervously, and sits on the stool. Just before the hat is placed on her head, she receives an encouraging smile from her friends. _**Hmm. Not many know my secret coming in here.**_ Hermione starts to lightly sweat. Can this thing read her mind? _**Yes, I can, and I'd prefer to be referred to as a HE, not a thing. Now...**_

 _ **Your mind is strong and wonderful, but you don't trust yourself. You believe that by riding on the tracks that brought others to success, you may make your own name. And yet, this Mors fellow...**_ Hermione gulps. _**Hmm... He's planted the seed of doubt, hasn't he? He knows where he's going, Slytherin... and he believes you'd do well right there beside him. He's right, you know. You have dreams...**_

 _ **Listen. Gryffindor is I will be. Slytherin is I will make myself to be. Ravenclaw is I can be. Which sounds the most like you? You study, yes, but to make yourself better, not just because you enjoy it. Sounds less like Ravenclaw, and more like Slytherin. You want to be the best, and you know you will be, but instead of just acting like it'll happen no matter what, you try to be, and you make sure you will be. That's Slytherin. The try bit, that's Hufflepuff, but the rest? Slytherin.**_

 _ **Guess where you're headed.**_ "SLYTHERIN" The hat screams, with Hermione saying the same along with it, synchronized perfectly. Hermione's robes turn green, as does her tie, and she makes her way over to the table of green and silver.

 **-))((-**

"Longbottom, Neville!" The blonde boy walks up and sits, nervously fidgeting. _**You know, Hermione gave you a glowing review.**_ Neville blushes slightly. _**I'd say she might be**_ **interested,** _ **if you know what I mean, if it weren't for Mors. He's a nice lad, caught her fancy, and little ol' you got left behind, eh?**_ Neville's cheeks puff up angrily.

 _ **Hah! Just as I thought. A few minutes in and he accepts you. No care about how weak your magic is or how weak your muscles are, he accepts you. And already you want to defend his honor. A loyal friend you are, eh?**_ Neville's eyes widen in realization. _**That's right, you're the guy who rushes in.**_

 _ **You're the guy who doesn't care what it takes. You will always be there for those you care about. Now don't let anyone tell you you're weak just because you're in**_ "HUFFLEPUFF!"

 **-))((-**

"Malfoy, Draco!" The blonde boy confidently walks up to the stool where the hat is. He sits down, the hat is placed on his head, and- _**I think that Mors boy is a soul mage.**_ Draco's face twists in confusion. _**Oh, he just... I sense the magic right there in your brain... I see!**_ Draco's face is a mixture of anger and nervousness.

 _ **Oh, there's nothing to be upset about, Draco. He scanned you so he could communicate with you better. He saw the darkness taking root, and the fellow is a gardener. He had to get rid of the weeds before they could take. He never used you. He just had to find out how he could get through. Hazing. I have to say it was a brilliant method, that could have gotten through to Riddle.**_

Confusion. _**Oh, you don't know him? He goes by another name now. Voldemort. He's... well, I'm sure you'll find out in very short order, I'm not really at liberty to say more, just look for records on Tom Marvolo Riddle, alright? You'll find what you're looking for.**_

 _ **Now, you believe that Slytherin is where you belong, eh? I hate to say it kid, but subtle is Slytherin, and Slytherin is subtle. You however, are not subtle. Ambitious, yes. Most certainly you are crafty, but you don't fit all the criteria. What house do you fit perfectly in, though?**_ Draco pales, his mind immediately going to Gryffindor. _**Hah! I want to put you there, yes, but would it be right? Let's see... hmm... oh, you did that? Hmm... Yes... yes, I believe you do fit rather well in Gryffindor.**_ Draco looks about to cry. _**Well, then, let's go to**_ "RAVENCLAW"

Draco passes out as his robes turn blue, and is quickly taken to the nurse's office.

 **-))((-**

"Pott..." McGonagall stops suddenly, looking confusedly at the parchment. "Ahem. Morsiecoris, formerly Harry Potter!" He gets up, and walks to the stool, relishing the shocked looks on everyone's faces, especially Hermione and Neville. _**You know you have a prophecy about you, Mors?**_ _Yeah._ _ **I have to put you in the house of leaders.**_ _Gryffindor?_ _ **Unfortunately, yes. I have to tell you this, though. What Necro told you? Completely true. Godric decided to convince the others. Salazar only went along with it because he thought he'd be killed otherwise, and he hadn't gotten his necromancy to the point of phylacteries yet. When he thought... they were all dead... he didn't want to go on.**_

 _Why?_ _ **Your mentor's sister... was his wife. He felt like he'd betrayed the love of his life and didn't deserve to go on. He killed himself in grief, three days after she found out, three years later. It was pure luck that your mentor had hidden one of his phylacteries in a separate place, rather than in the sanctuary. He... Rowena showed me that he showed up the day after Salazar committed suicide.**_

 _ **No more moping for now, though. I'm sorry, but I have to put you in**_ "GRYFFINDOR!"

 **-))((-**

"The password is 'Quidditch.' Remember that." McGonagall says, as the portrait opens up to the common room for Gryffindor. Mors gives her a half-lidded glare, too upset to look sleepy, but too sleepy to look upset. _Quidditch. BAH! What a stupid game._ With that, he drags his things inside.

"Follow me, firsties." A taller boy, probably in seventh year, says, gesturing to follow. He leads them to a pair of staircases. "Girls on the right, boys on the left. First door you come across is the first-year dorms. Goodnight." _Yeah, goodnight, asshole. Not even trying to help anyone with their luggage... It's not like we're eleven, right? OH WAIT WE ARE._

Complaints aside, Mors had a rather restful night's sleep.

 **-))((-**

"You see this bust?" The tall boy asks. The first years all nod, Draco included. The girl at his side continues, "This bust will ask you a question when you want to get into the dorm. If you fail, you have to wait for someone else to come let you in." Draco immediately starts to question the security of such a system.

The bust begins to speak. "I am in the air, in the water, and all animals need me, but you'll never find me in the zoo. What am I?" Draco, ever the eloquent speaker immediately blurts out, "A?"

The bust smiles. "That's why you're in Ravenclaw, lad." The common room door opens as all the first years other than him start to congratulate Draco on a job well done. With a smile, Draco finds his way to his bed.

Shocks and surprises aside, Draco had a rather restful night's sleep.

 **-))((-**

"The password is HSS44T8, got it? Write it down if you don't." The tall boy says. The first years all file inside the Dungeon common room, and stand at attention. "Now, I'd better go ahead and set down the rules. I didn't make them, but we're all expected to follow them. Boys are NOT allowed in the girls' dormitories. Our head will find out immediately and you will be given a week or more of detention. You will be ready for class by 8. Anyone unprepared will be given a day's detention. Beds are to be MADE. Failure will result in a day's detention."

"That is all. You see those two hallways?" He indicate one to the left of the entrance and one to the right. "Left is girls, right is boys. Have a good night." He walks off into the boys dorms.

Despite the rather drill-sergeant-like head boy and the militaristic attitude of the house, Neville had a good night's sleep.

 **-))((-**

"The password is 'Lackluster'." As the door opens, Hermione feels a sense of dread. Walking inside, it seems nobody is willing to help. Tears come to her eyes. She's never been this lost before. She's about to run to the head of house, when a blonde girl grabs her arm.

"Girl's dorms are this way," She says, leading Hermione.

Satisfied with where the day has taken her, Hermione had a good night's sleep.

 **-))((-**

"Morning, Longbottom," A pink-haired girl calls out to Neville when he walks into the common room. She strolls up to him, and asks, "Walk with me to breakfast? I have to talk to you about something."

 **-))((-**

Mors, sitting at the Gryffindor table, eating his waffles, notices as Draco walks in, and flags him down. The blonde Ravenclaw sits down beside him, and gives him an awkward smile. "You, ah... Didn't tell me you were Harry Potter." Mors smiles slyly, before stating simply, "You never asked my name."

Draco's face goes blank, before he accepts that response. He really hadn't asked his name. "Still," Mors continues, "I go by Morsiecoris nowadays. My adoptive father gave me the name. It's Latin for Death Eater." Draco looks at the dark-haired Gryffindor in shock, and earns a laugh in return. "Yeah, Dad thought it was funny when he found out who I used to be. He gave me that name because I 'ate' part of Voldemort's soul when he tried to kill me."

"Ate?"

"Yeah, he tried to make a Horcrux in my head, but I ate it. Don't ask how, I don't remember, but I ate Voldemort's soul." Draco gags, and turns back to his own breakfast, putting some waffles on his own plate.

"Let's not talk about that anymore for now, eh? We can deep some other time."

"Yeah, I guess that's- oh, hey! Hermione! Over here!" Mors calls out to his green-robed friend.

She looks over in his direction, smiles, and joins the two. "Hi," She greets Draco, "We haven't met yet, soo... I'm Hermione. Nice to meet you." Draco smiles shyly, afraid that he might get mocked since he couldn't make it into his family's house, and responds, "Nice to meet you too, Hermione. I'm Draco."

Hermione prepares her own plate, and pulls out her class schedule to review before she has to go on. She opens her mouth to say something, but then Neville sits down, a pink-haired 7th year sitting beside him. Mors smiles, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than the situation calls for, and greets the two warmly, "Good morning Neville. Who's your friend?"

"I'm Tonks," the girl says, "My parents were friends with yours and Neville's." "Ah," Mors says, nodding, "I'm glad to know that my parents were real people and I didn't just pop out of thin air one day."

The other four stare at him, almost begging for some sort of explanation.

"I honestly have no idea why I said it like that." He replies with a shrug.

"Annnnnywaaayyy... I seeked... sook... sought... I was looking for you because of something you parents did with mine."

"They traded wives for a day?"

" _ **NO.**_ " Tonks looks about ready to pop from all the blood rushing to her embarrassed face. "Our parents... arranged... a contract between the two of us."

Mors immediately jumps to the most likely conclusion. "So the stuck-in-the-sixteenth-century wizards made a betrothal contract?" _Five. The mentor is Tonks, eh?_

Tonks looks away, "Yes."

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. The bridge we're at now is where our classes take place. I've got double Potions with the Slytherins first thing, then double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs." Tonks looks a cross between indignant and relieved at being brushed off like that.

"I have Transfiguration, then Charms while you're at Herbology, both with other Gryffindors" Hermione says, confused at the indifference at being told that an 11-year old boy is being forced into marriage with an 18-year old.

"Double Charms, then Transfiguration and Flying, all with Hufflepuff." Draco goes second.

"Double Charms with Ravenclaw, then double Flying with Slytherin." Neville says with a sigh. "I hate flying."

"It could be worse, you know," Mors starts, "There could be a class on getting hexed and how to suck it up and take it like a man. Wait, that's DADA."

Tonks, having experienced it before, and knowing how true that is, gives a big laugh at that.

 **-))((-**

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class." Snape says, and Mors immediately tunes him out, up until he stops in front of him, saying, "Ah, Potter, our newest _Celebrity._ What would I get if I added powdered Monkshood to an infusion of-"

"If you wanted a Draught of Living Death, sir, all you had to do was ask." Mors responds, handing him a phial.

Snape looks at the boy in wonderment, before stalking back up to his desk. "Instructions are on the board. If you're confused, raise your hand. Be sure to follow the instructions EXACTLY. I've only had one student fatality in my past ten years of working, and I intend to keep it that way." He gives a level glare to the entire classroom. "If I see any attempts at sabotage, no matter what house they're in, they will be docked over a hundred House Points, and given two weeks detention, am I clear? Good."

Giving the instructions a cursory glance, Mors smiles. He turns to Hermione, at his side, and with a shared grin, they get to work.

 **-))((-**

Mors gives Neville an encouraging smile. It isn't like Herbology will be hard for him. He does have a greenhouse all to himself. _Neville is going to own this class. How hard could it be, anyway?_

 **-))((-**

Several hours later, a very sore, batteed, and bruised Mors stalks back to the Gryffindor common room after dinner. _How the fuck is Herbology That fucking hard? I mean come on! It's fucking plants and shit!_ He then dreamed of evil-yet-sexy plant-people. Weird, given his age.


End file.
